Who doesn’t love a good sex dream?

Hell, without sex dreams, i have no writing career. My best work is all inspired by some form of sex dreams. The thing with sex dreams is, they let that part of the psyche free, let us savage or be savaged, romance or be romanced, do or be done unto, in ways we might not let ourselves in waking hours.

The funny thing, though, is often the whom; who gets into our sexual psyche in ways that percolate through the layers of strata and turn up in the watershed of dreams.

A blond star of a teens-in-beverly-hills teevee show; a composite character built of a Greg Rucka character and local tattoo scene people; game show hosts and small time stars, friends or relations or people we’ve never even met, yet know from afar.

Who knows why. I can’t make heads or tails of what makes my sexual subconscious glom onto one particular person, nor why sometimes it will fabricate a person from raw material. God know i have no control over it, lest I’d have savaged many a starlet and schoolmate and co-worker and blog-reader.

In any case, last night i had a particularly vivid sex dream about Seska. And I have no idea why.

It isn’t like I’ve been anywhere near her site in the last year or two (or three), though I’ll admit to having been a big fan way back in the day when ‘amateur’ sites were generally free and wild and no one had yet figured out they could make money taking dirty pictures of themselves and their friends and posting them on line.

Yet there she was in my head last night, in a dream that’s sadly now fading. I remember a large house, and many, many people, who seemed almost to be touring her house, as if they bused people in for a ‘tour of the porn star’s pleasure palace’.

And then i had her to myself and there was a great deal of kissing, though something seemed always to interrupt us, straggling tourists, calls, the usual series of starts and stops and frustrations one can encounter in dreams.

Finally though, I locked the bedroom door and we wound up not quite making it to the bed, and she opened her legs to me there on the floor as i pushed aside a filmy red nighty, and with the freedom of dreams, she guided my condom-free cock into herself, and showed me the sort of faces you can see on her site, and moaned by name.

Usually, almost always, my dreams end before penetration. As if the adrenaline and arousal form an internal alarm clock. Oh-so-many times I’ve woken with a start, a morphean coitus-interruptus, annoyed with myself for my dream’s inability to consummate the act.

This dream was different; i can still feel the inside of her, smell the sexy-sweet girl scent of her. This is where in envy the women I know who can climax in dreams, because it’s something I’ve not done since I was a teenager; and so I woke, unsatisfied, yet with my mind full of girl-scent and the bodies-merged feeling still lingering on my skin.

I still have no idea, though, why Seska. But I’m not complaining.

Oh, and let’s hear some of your odd sex dream subjects. The weirder the better.